


Chuuken

by sumiya



Series: Blood, Sweat and Tears [1]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Professional Tennis, Tenipuri Cross Pair Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3509336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumiya/pseuds/sumiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Atobe gets an invitation to dinner from Yukimura, he's expecting an evening of snark and rivalry. When he is instead greeted with Yanagi and a thick folder of papers, Atobe must make an important choice that could change his entire future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chuuken

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this year's [Tenipuri Cross Pair Exchange ](http://tenipuri-xpair.livejournal.com/)at lj, run by [sagely_sea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sagely_sea/works). Beta-ed by my amazing betas [arysthaeniru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/arysthaeniru/works) and [lahdolphin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lahdolphin/pseuds/lahdolphin).

Yanagi Renji threw a glance at the black leather folder on the table before sighing quietly and looking down at the city below. Tokyo was as loud and bright as always, and the lights made a harsh contrast with the pitch black night above. He pictured the people walking on the streets, rushing through the crowds; either to their homes, or a night at work, or last minute shopping. Everyone was always reaching for something.

Yanagi heard the constant rhythm of his fingers tapping on the fancy white tablecloth, before he realized he was the one doing it. He stopped and checked his watch one more time; it was fifteen minutes past the agreed time. His guest was still within the margin of being punctual to some extent, and Yanagi was perfectly aware he had a reputation of arriving fashionably late without being impolite.

As if he had been summoned by Yanagi’s wandering thoughts, the doors of the private room of the exclusive restaurant opened to allow one of the most famous japanese tennis players of the last decade, Atobe Keigo, to enter.

Yanagi was sure that Atobe’s lateness -after growing up in one of the most punctual places of the world- had everything to do with the unyielding attention offered to someone who arrived late, and little to do with an inability to arrive on time. And, of course, the fact that he had settled this meeting under Yukimura’s name had played an important part in Atobe’s decision. In and out of the courts, Atobe found great joy in pissing Yukimura off.

“Good evening, Atobe,” Yanagi greeted, standing up and bowing slightly. Atobe didn’t seem pleased to be the one left to wait for the other. He masked it, with a snide smile, as the waiter took his coat.

“Ahn, is Yukimura running late?”

Yanagi didn’t reply and instead waved a hand to invite the other to take a seat, as he ordered a bottle of champagne. He stayed silent, much to Atobe’s visible discomfort, until the waiter served their glasses and exited the private room, leaving them alone. “How are you this evening, Atobe?”

Yanagi caught glimpses of annoyance mixed with intrigue, before the charming smile appeared like a blinding mask. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. Even if Atobe and Yukimura had an amiable relationship in front of the cameras and on the tournament podium, the reality involved a lot of snarky retorts and tripping the other while people were looking away. Nothing had really changed since middle school.

“Ready to take the world by storm, starting with Wimbledon next month,” Atobe said and Yanagi had to snicker a little. If he was to make a confession, he would say that dealing with Atobe was quite like dealing with Yukimura, minus the constant second guessing but with a lot more showy antics instead. He raised his cup and toasted to Atobe, who drank half his glass in return.

“I’m in no place to deny such statement,” Yanagi limited himself to say. “And because of that, I have a proposition to make you.”

The cheekiness was slowly fading from Atobe’s face as a small frown of concentration creased between his eyes. “Shouldn’t we wait for Yukimura?”

“I’m afraid Seiichi won’t be joining us tonight,” Yanagi replied simply and took another sip of his drink before folding his hands on the table. “That would be because he is not cognizant of this meeting.”

“Ahn?” Atobe was looking at him intently, as if trying to look past him or maybe even into him. Yanagi believed that if they had been in a court, he would have had a hand on his face with his personal trademark. It didn’t matter, though, Yanagi wasn’t planning on concealing information from Atobe tonight. “What is this then? Are you taking him out of the picture to make a deal with me?”

When Yanagi didn’t reply, Atobe sneered, looking amused. He drank a bit more from his cup before continuing, “I suppose I could find a spot for a strategist on my team. Definitely for a good one like yourself. So you are really ditching him, hmm? What brought this change of heart, may I ask? You’ve been together since you were children, after all.”

“While I’m considering teaming up with you, Atobe, that doesn’t mean I’m leaving Seiichi,” Yanagi said and let his annoyance at the thought of betraying his friend, show on his face. “My proposition walks a different path.”

Yanagi pulled a sheet from the leather folder and handed it over to Atobe, who looked at it with increasing interest. “I calculated the probabilities of the matches for Wimbledon this year. As you can see, the chances of you two facing each other in the finals are 87.06%. I would like that percentage to be higher but there is always the wild chance of a wonder-rookie making his way up to quarterfinals and ruining my calculations.” He flinched at the idea. If that happened, the expected results would be on stake and the effort put into his careful planning would be for nothing. It had better not happen, not this year.

“So?” Atobe replied, arching an eyebrow. Yanagi decided that this was perhaps the most interest that Atobe would give him all the night, so he launched into his larger goal, without pause.

“As you are most likely going to be Seiichi’s opponent for the Wimbledon Title, I want you to lose to him.”

There was a tense silence. And then Atobe burst into laughter.

Yanagi took a deep breath. He had been expecting such a reaction and stayed as composed and serious as was required by the situation. He didn’t count the time (fifty one seconds) until Atobe finally stopped laughing.

“You are joking, right Yanagi?” Atobe asked between small chuckles, apparently trying to summon some equanimity. “Because you can’t possibly be asking me to sell a match to Yukimura. That would be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I am not joking, Atobe.” Yanagi’s voice was cold and sharp. “You are right, though. ‘Selling’ a match would be indeed a stupid request, since I hardly believe you would accept a monetary offer. If it eases your mind, we can assign it a more fitting label. Is ‘profitable long term investment’ more suitable for you?”

Atobe’s laugh died on the spot.

“What are you talking about, Yanagi?”

“Seiichi will be retiring after Wimbledon, permanently.” Yanagi had to swallow then, as if that would take the sour taste those words left in his mouth.

“What?!”

“He will be retiring to treat the medical condition that is compromising his gameplay as of late,” Yanagi said and pulled a plain yellow folder from the leather one. He handed it over to Atobe, but the pro-tennis player didn’t even look the contents before tossing it aside.

“Are you telling me Yukimura is sick?”

“He didn’t really recover from the sickness affecting his body back in middle school. No amount of treatment has been able to successfully cure him,” Yanagi explained, sounding tired. It wasn’t like he had repeated these words over and over again. Truth to be told, it was the first time he had spoken them aloud for anyone other than Yukimura himself. All of his medical records were kept secret with extreme doctor-patient confidentiality to avoid any backlash in the media, which could have a negative impact on Yukimura’s tennis career.

Atobe sneered again, humorlessly this time.

“So what, his winning the Australian Open this year was a scam? Roland Garros as well?” Atobe challenged, coming forward as if closeness could help his so-called prodigious insight to see the lie within Yanagi’s words. “I don’t believe you. I saw Echizen losing to him on the clay. I was there, it was a fair match. I don’t see the brat willingly handing the trophy over, too much pride for that. No amount of bribery or blackmail would have made him sacrifice his ankle to those last points, even if they were useless in the end.”

Yes, Yukimura had won those matches fairly and cleanly. Even if Atobe had problems with voicing it out loud, choosing to state that Echizen had lost, instead.

“I didn’t expect you to believe me, that’s the reason I brought his medical records to back my words up with solid, certified proof. He played well because we’ve been training with pain endurance and hiding the physical symptoms of numbness,” Yanagi said, opening his eyes. “Seiichi is in constant pain; when the numbness appears, it releases him from the burden of pain. Yet, there is a basic biological reason of why pain is a necessity. It allows the bearer to identify if something is wrong. Echizen sacrificed an ankle, Seiichi did a lot more.”

Yanagi became silent then, with memories of the x-rays of Yukimura’s almost shattered wrist and how raw the blisters on his feet and hands had been. The ghostlike memory of the smell of Yukimura’s blood lingered in his nose, and Yanagi felt like gagging.

“So, no. I might not have talked Echizen into it, just like I’m doing with you right now, but I withstand a greater guilt in that victory.”

“Let’s pretend that what you are saying is true. Against the odds and defeating what opposes him, Yukimura wins Wimbledon,” Atobe started, whirling the champagne in his cup. He was clearly doubting Yanagi’s words. The possibility of a partnership was still small but at least Atobe had stayed and listened, which meant he hadn’t dismissed the idea completely. “What would stop him from trying to aim for the fourth title at the U.S. Open? It would be a temptation impossible to resist. The Yukimura I know stops at nothing. He even convinced you, his manager and friend –who I had pinned for a clever man- to do the most moronic brainless stunt in the history of tennis, against medical advice.”

Yanagi shook his head.

“His body won’t be able to take it. I will convince him to retire after that match,” Yanagi said, and at the incredulous huff coming from Atobe, he continued. “If my words fall to deaf ears, I will take the matter in my own hands and present the evidence of him not being able to play professionally anymore to the ATP.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’ve never gone back on my words, Atobe,” Yanagi said finally opening the leather folder and looking down at it for a moment. “I realize how risky this might seem for a businessman like you, therefore I’ve made a contract. You agree to lose the Wimbledon final if you are to reach such stage of the tournament, and I vow to make Yukimura Seiichi retire after said match.”

Yanagi looked up and was taken aback from what he saw. Atobe was glaring at him. From all the times he had encountered the heir of the Atobe Enterprises, both in and outside the courts, he had never seen him this upset. The court always awakened raw passions but he had yet to find a stance that could cause so much hatred in the other man. Was it something he said? Yanagi was sure that he had phrased the agreement proposal as he had practiced before.

“I wouldn’t take Yukimura for the kind to sink this low, to be honest. I’m man enough to acknowledge his skills, but creating a contract that goes against the sportsmanship of tennis or any other sport for that matter?” Atobe hissed between clenched teeth. “The place is wired, isn’t it? You want me to agree to commit a felony, present this as proof in a trial to the ATP and demolish my tennis career?”

Atobe stood up, looking rather upset and about to leave any second. “Not tonight, Yanagi. I admit it was clever, I’ll give you that. If Yukimura is so desperate to take me out, he can try so in a tennis court anytime.”

Yanagi threw his head back and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to steady himself. This was the worst case-scenario that could have possibly happened. He had taken Atobe’s mistrust into account, but not to this extent. There was no other option than to use his last resource.

“You are wrong. This is not a complicated scheme to try and bring you down, Atobe. This is just me, not wanting to see my friend dying on a court because of his foolish pride; this is me giving him enough peace of mind with one last victory before he forsakes the sport that has been his life since he was four years old,” Yanagi said this with all the worry and concern that he had concealed inside him, for over a year now. This was uncommon for him, and it felt painfully raw. “Plus, I said you should consider this as an investment. Even if having Seiichi gone and out of your path would be enough of a reward for any tennis player, I’m not asking you to do this out of charity and good will. I know money is not a temptation for you, and Tezuka with a red bow is out of my capabilities, but I trust my offer is generous enough for you to accept my proposal.”

Yanagi placed the leather folder in front of Atobe and left it there. It wasn’t for him to give it, but for the other to take it.

Atobe opened and took a glance at it, before looking up and staring at Yanagi in utter disbelief.

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

Atobe ran a hand through his hair before loosening the knot of his tie a little.

 

 

-x-x-x-

 

 

“There, harder.”

“Yes, Atobe-sama,” the masseuse said before applying more pressure on the underside of Atobe’s left calf. He had just finished his preliminary match against the new French upstart and the bratling had put a bit of a fight. It was good, great, exciting. Destroying your opponent in a one-sided match was not challenging and not entertaining either, for the audience or himself. He closed his eyes for a moment and enjoyed the skilled hands that eased the tension on his muscles and tendons.

But relaxation remained out of his reach. There was something perturbing inside what should have been a well-earned rest. Between the thousand admirer’s faces, he had spotted Yanagi watching him silently. It wasn’t unusual for other players’ managers to scout out their opponent’s matches while going data hunting, but Atobe knew that this was something different. It had been a silent but powerful reminder of their meeting a few weeks prior.

Knowing that clearing his mind was a lost cause, Atobe opened his eyes and reached for the television remote to turn it on. Yukimura was exempt to play in the first round because of his wins and ranking, yet he still got plenty of camera time. Apparently reporters loved Yukimura. Atobe couldn’t really understand why. There were plenty of other players that were more camera-alluring, like himself. Plus, since Yukimura hadn’t played in this round, there was nothing new to report. Atobe shouldn’t have wasted his time on watching this woman make shallow questions to the current champion. He had better things to do.

The masseuse pressed harder in a very tense cord and Atobe groaned quietly. The match, even if it wasn’t up to the level he was used to, had left him with enough physical exhaustion to call it a day. Atobe looked at the man in the screen, and his soft, often-media-overrated looks. Yanagi had to be lying. There was no way Yukimura hide that amount of pain or numbness for the duration of a three set match. Those could go well over three hours, it was impossible to do. It was some ruse of some kind or maybe Yanagi had lost his mind after having to deal with the egomania of Yukimura for so long.

Then he saw it.

The slight twitch in the hand when he ran it through his blue hair before winking at the camera. And when Yukimura tried to pull a flock of his hair behind his ear and missed it by half an inch, deciding to run his hand through his hair instead.

“You may leave now,” Atobe said to the masseuse before sitting on the bed so he could take a closer look at the screen.

“I’m not done yet, Atobe-sama, if you would just let--”

“It’s alright, you did a good job. Thank you for your service,” he replied without turning to look at her, but saw her bowing out of the corner of his eye and leaving the room afterwards. Atobe turned the volume up. They were talking about how spectacular Yukimura’s Roland Garros win had been. Was Yukimura’s smile turned slightly more to the right than to the left? His eyelid closed slightly slower on that side too. They could be insignificant things, but still, they were there. It wouldn’t be noticeable to someone who lacked Atobe’s visual acuity, of course. It was just that he hadn’t been paying attention before. But he was now.

The interview ended, followed by some sports car adverts and Atobe turned the television off. He stared at the black leather folder on the table across the room, and for a moment, it felt like it was staring back at him.

 

 -:-

 

Even if Atobe closely watched every one of Yukimura’s matches from that day on until the semifinals, he didn’t attempt to contact Yanagi. Atobe wasn’t a man that overthought situations, he acted upon them. This was a World Tennis Title and not a playful match over school tournaments. He needed his head focused on the game and his eyes on the ball, so he could show the world his glorious tennis skills on the court. Wimbledon held a special place for him, too. Living in England as a child, he had been nobody. It was to show _them_ who ruled that court. He had a couple of titles of his own but never Wimbledon. The one that got away, for one reason or another. Tennis was a very competitive sport where the order of the raffles influenced the outcomes, and _Tyche_ (1) hadn’t granted him with the opportunity to run for it with such good omens in his favor. This time, though, Atobe was certain he could win this.

Atobe adjusted his wristband and took a deep breath to center himself, before entering the court. The cheering was deafening and he closed his eyes to let the roars and chants wash over him. He encouraged them, with his arms up and his confident attitude that ruled the court, and the sound of his name became even louder. He was the King of Court and this was his Kingdom.

Then, slowly, the court became silent as the announcer called Yukimura’s name.

He wouldn’t admit it, not even under torture, but the cheers were just as loud as his, and the only thing Yukimura needed to do was to stand there with his trademark jersey on his shoulders. As silly as their nicknames were back in middle school, Atobe couldn’t deny there was something ethereal, eerily magnificent about Yukimura. The stadium was out of it, cheering loudly and almost breaking the required etiquette. The audience was even asked to be silent several times so the match could start.

This was going to be a match people would talk about through the years.

And it was up to Atobe to decide how he wanted to be remembered.

 

 -:-

 

Atobe closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the smell of cut grass filling his senses. The sun fell heavily on his face and he could feel a drop of sweat making its way down his neck. It was hot and the air was dense with humidity. He knew there were sounds and people around him, but he paid no mind to them. The feeling of the ball hitting the racket and the strain of his muscles when he returned the ball was everything in his mind. Atobe’s eyes were still closed, but he could still see Yukimura’s face, perfectly. He could hear the other’s pants across the court, the rubber and felt hitting string. The loud cheer when that last point was scored…

“Atobe? Are you coming?” Tezuka’s voice broke the trance and Atobe opened his eyes to look at him.

“Ah, yes of course,” Atobe said and ran a hand through his hair as he took one last glance at the gardens where Yukimura’s memorial had taken place. The tennis world had been so shocked when Yukimura retired after winning Wimbledon, going on and on about how such a young talented player had resigned when he was in the peak of his career. There had been unfounded, injudicious rumors of him being blackmailed into it, that his family was in debt with the yakuza and some even more ridiculous theories suggesting that he had gotten a sweetheart pregnant. Atobe believed media had reached a new level of stupidity if they couldn’t figure out Yukimura was gay–not that it was Atobe’s business.

If Yukimura’s retirement had been a shock, hell had broken loose when his passing was announced, one week before the U.S Open. Apparently, Yanagi had been right when he had said Yukimura’s body wouldn’t be able to withstand participating in another tournament. Atobe looked at where Sanada and Yanagi stood next to Yukimura’s picture in a sinister resemblance of how they had stood together on a court, so many years ago. By the look on both of their faces, Yanagi hadn’t thought his words would have such an ominous timing either.

“Are you alright, Atobe?” Tezuka asked and Atobe sighed quietly. There was something ghastly about the thought of Yukimura being gone forever.

“It is unsettling, thinking about the fragility of life,” Atobe dismissed it, and fixed his suit jacket. “The limo is waiting outside already, we should go.”

Yanagi looked at them then, and whispered something to Sanada who nodded back. Silently, he made his way through the crowd of tennis players and underground painters and singers without being stopped once. Atobe wasn’t sure if it was because they were giving him space or because he looked as unreachable as Yukimura did when he was alive. Maybe it was the aura that all of Rikkai had as a team, when gathered together like now. Though they looked far more human when they were struck by grief, no longer the untouchable victors they had been once upon a time.

“Thank you for coming, Tezuka, Atobe,” he said simply, bowing low to them. “You were formidable opponents to Seiichi and he respected you greatly.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Yanagi,” Tezuka said, bowing back.

Yanagi shook his head. “He had a great life and a peaceful death. He is finally resting now.”

“Yukimura left victorious and his name will be remembered through tennis history, I’m sure,” Tezuka said, and for a moment it looked like he wanted to pat Yanagi on the shoulder. The three of them realized how awkward that would be and Tezuka abstained from doing it.

“I’m sure it will,” Atobe said and nodded, holding back a sigh.

In the end, he made the right choice. It hadn’t been an easy match, the one he had against Yukimura, but Atobe could have won. Not in straight winning sets but it was easy to find Yukimura’s weakness when he knew what to look for: a misstep, a racket angled wrongly because he couldn’t really feel it anymore. A part of him, deep inside, had wanted to win so badly it hurt. The title was just within reach…

Yet, winning like that would have left an empty victory like the one he had taken from Tezuka back when they were teenagers. One time had been more than enough for him to learn his lesson. Instead, Atobe had given Yukimura the fight he could win and Atobe had decided to lose, with his dignity intact.

Tezuka and Atobe nodded once more, before turning to leave, when he felt Yanagi’s hand close around his arm.

“My contact information hasn’t changed,” Yanagi said quietly and Atobe knew he was honoring the contract between them.

“I know.”

 

 

-x-x-x-

 

 

Yanagi took a look at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The brown, tweed Chanel jacket felt too heavy and uncomfortable for his liking but he wasn’t completely unfamiliar with having to comply with Wimbledon’s dress etiquette. It was just another of the more meaningful differences between watching tennis from the stands and playing it on the court. Not that he had played tennis on this particular court, though.

He checked his reflection in the mirror once more. He wasn’t Yukimura or Atobe, for his looks to give him away within the mass of faceless spectators. Yanagi looked what he liked to call ‘generically Asian’ and it was useful to sneak into places and gather information over opponents. His hair was longer than the last time he came to this place and with just a pair of sunglasses nobody would identify him as Yukimura’s former manager.

Yanagi sighed heavily before snickering, the sound lacking any semblance of amusement. He wondered about the possibility of Yukimura seeing him now from above, about to take his seat in the VIP zone in front of the _Central Court_ to support Atobe. Would he be so mad to bring himself back from the dead?

He wished for his words to be true, so badly, even if he wouldn’t want to give answers to the questions Yukimura would bombard him with. What was he doing here? Why was he rooting for _Atobe_? Why was he _dressed_ like that?

Yanagi washed his hands and exited the bathroom. He felt the nostalgia invading him as he walked the familiar corridors of the _Center Court_ even if it was a different route than the one he had taken when Yukimura was still alive.

It had been one of the most risky moves of his whole life, talking Atobe into giving Yukimura the victory. Atobe could have handed Yanagi over to the authorities, for intent of bribery and fraud and could have taken a good shot at Yukimura’s career. With how fleeting it had been after that, that would have a tragedy. Yanagi had taken Yukimura’s last shot at happiness into his own hands. If he had to watch Yukimura die, he would do anything to make him die fulfilled.

So he had.

Desperate times had led to desperate measures, and Yanagi had used his last resort. What could you give to a man that can get anything with money? Legally-bonding unyielding loyalty.

Basically, he had given Atobe a sheet specifying what he requested of him, losing to Yukimura, and several blank sheets with Yanagi’s name and signature on the bottom. It didn’t state a time, a place, or any limits of what could be requested in exchange. Atobe could request whatever he wanted, for however long he wanted and Yanagi would have to submit to it. Every whim would have to be pleased or he would face any consequences Atobe wished to dictate as punishment.

All of that, all those risks he actively avoided, had meant nothing at that time.

He had known Yukimura would die when his tennis did, and Yanagi had wanted him to watch him in his full glory and glowing with contentment one last time before that happened. It had been breathtaking and absolutely worth it.

After Yukimura’s passing, Atobe contacted him, and Yanagi had been working for him ever since then. He had been right about Atobe being a reasonable man. Yanagi continued with his work as manager, this time for Atobe, just with the twist of doing it undercover. He was not included on the official list or Atobe’s team, nor did he stay with them during tournaments. They worked together privately and discreetly. It helped to gather better information and to avoid the media backlash over him working for Atobe so shortly after Yukimura’s death. They had been declared rivals, after all. Yanagi didn’t get a paycheck but his needs like shelter, food and clothes were granted by Atobe, in his very particular style. The shackles that the contract provided were light, even if they were made of gold.

The sun fell over the grass court, and the mix of colors in the stands. The general excitement was palpable in the air and Yanagi took a deep breath to fill himself with the essence of tennis. It was so selfish of him, being able to do this when Yukimura couldn’t anymore, but guilt didn’t make it any less enjoyable. Or maybe Yanagi was starting to cope with it better; he couldn’t really tell. These last years had been a series of contradictions in many ways. He had been wary yet resigned when he got Atobe’s call to make the contract valid, expecting to be taunted and sneered at, but Atobe had listened to Yanagi’s words and the suggestions of how they should work together. Atobe was disciplined about tennis, if a diva outside of a court. It was similar to working with Yukimura all over again, even if that void in Yanagi’s soul could never be filled. It was exciting and frustrating at the same time, it was hard-work and an over-the-top, luxurious life. It was confusing, but for all Yanagi hated uncertainty, it was enjoyable too.

Maybe that’s why he felt it would be hard replying to Yukimura’s questions. Mostly, because he was unsure of the answers himself.

Yanagi reached his seat in front of the court and waited patiently for the players to come out and play. Atobe was playing against Tezuka for the title and it was a promising match. Yanagi had developed a winning strategy and now it was up to Atobe to put it to work.

He sighed.

Two years after Yukimura’s death, the court without his shining presence still hurt Yanagi deeply.

 

-:-

 

The night was cold, even though it was still summer and Yanagi wrapped himself in his coat. The tournament had ended and the courts were closed, but Atobe had provided Yanagi an all-access pass to let him do his work. Like now, when Yanagi was looking for him. He had learned that Atobe practiced to the point of passing out from exhaustion, if he lost a match. Yanagi was to find him and persuade him that there were other options than dropping down unconscious on a tennis court.

Tezuka had won in the end –he had improved greatly the last two months- and that had meant defeat for Atobe. Nonetheless, it had been an astonishing five set match that had lasted nearly four hours. Atobe’s skills weren’t even put into doubt and Yanagi was 94% sure he was the most likely to win the U.S. Open title.

Yanagi turned to the left after checking the courts in that zone were closed and with the lights turned off. He tried calling Atobe again but it rang until he was redirected to voicemail. Yanagi frowned slightly -this was becoming troublesome. Luckily, there were just another few practice courts Atobe could be in, so it shouldn’t take much time now.

Yukimura had been the same, in some ways. Whenever he lost, he would wake up before sunrise and start an excruciating training, clearly developed in hell. Atobe was more careless about it, choosing such inconvenient hours to find redemption from a loss, but at least he didn’t make Yanagi train with him like Yukimura did.

Oh.

The last court was empty as well. That was odd. Yanagi arched an eyebrow and pulled his phone from his coat’s pocket and tried calling once more. He called five times before he started to become worried. This was very unusual.

Yanagi rushed to where Atobe’s room was located, searching for the room card in his pocket almost desperately. He could feel himself panicking over the old fears from when Yukimura was sick and not responding to a call could mean a life or death situation. Yanagi ran the rest of the way to the villa and knocked a couple of times. He didn’t wait for a reply before he opened the door.

“Atobe?” he called. “Are you here?”

Yanagi could hear his own heartbeat loud in his ears when he didn’t get a reply. He stumbled with a chair on the floor in the middle of the room. The lights were turned off, but even in the darkness Yanagi could see the wreckage the room had become. There were pillows everywhere and almost every object in the room was in a different state of destruction. Yanagi felt a shiver run down his spine from both cold and fear. He saw the terrace door open and he felt a sting of panic. It was just a loss, it shouldn’t be a reason to…

“Atobe!”

Clinging to the rail he looked down and relief washed over him when there was nothing there.

“Why so loud, Yanagi?”

“Atobe!” Yanagi turned to see Atobe sitting on a recliner, navy dress shirt unbuttoned, hair a styled mess and drinking away from what appeared to be a glass of scotch. From the looks of things, it seemed he had been drinking since the mandatory press conference ended a couple of hours ago. The hand holding the glass looked slightly bloody and sore as if he had punched a window or a wall. Was losing to Tezuka harder for Atobe than Yanagi’s expectations?

“What? Did you see a ghost?” Atobe smirked and Yanagi arched an eyebrow, expectantly.

“You’d be the one to tell me. Since I’ve never seen you like this before after a loss in a tournament, I might as well be seeing one,” Yanagi replied drily and Atobe laughed bitterly before pointing at the recliner next to his for Yanagi to sit on.

“Loss? We’re celebrating!” Atobe exclaimed as he poured one glass for Yanagi and refilled his.

“Celebrating,” Yanagi stated calmly but didn’t move from his spot next to the rail. His mind was running wild over the possible outcomes of this. Atobe looked like he was near his breaking point and was prone to act erratically. “Tezuka’s victory?”

Atobe laughed. “No, something better yet! We’re celebrating the fact that my father has decided my entire future for me! Have a drink! It's going to be a _party_!" Atobe spat those last words before finishing his glass in one go and messily refilling it again. “He warned me about this before the year started. Two Grand Slams with consecutive losses and my tennis career was to be done with.

“I’ll have what anyone else would want. To be able to settle down, marry a beautiful woman and take over the family business,” Atobe continued as he stood up, stumbling a little. “Aren’t I _lucky_?”

Oh. _Oh_. So this wasn’t just a loss, it was about forsaking tennis altogether. Yanagi should have seeing it coming, had already experienced it with Yukimura once. From the tension, the discretion, the absolute devotion to the game, to the room destruction and the unnecessary amount of alcohol. It was happening all over again. This seems as inevitable as death had been for Yukimura. Yanagi sighed heavily and looked at Atobe, trying to find the right words to say.

“Atobe, I’m--”

“Don’t you _dare_ finish that sentence!” Atobe hissed and was in front of Yanagi in an instant, pointing at his face with the hand that was holding the glass. “I’m not _dying_ , so I don’t need your fucking pity.”

“You’re drunk, go sleep.” Yanagi’s face hardened at that jab. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“So even you are going to tell me what I’m supposed to do with my life?” Atobe just laughed again, harder. “Apparently, I can’t decide anything about it by myself! Well, even if I can’t say anything about mine, I still own yours.”

Atobe mockingly toasted at him. Yanagi looked down at him. “That, at least, was _my_ choice.”

“Well, isn’t that lucky for you?” Atobe snapped back. Yanagi rolled his eyes and forcefully took the glass from Atobe.

“Take a shower and go sleep, you are a mess,” he said and started to walk into the room, when he felt Atobe’s hand around his arm and shoving him against the rail. Yanagi felt a sudden rush, caused by the swift gust of wind and the knowledge that the rail would be the only thing preventing him from falling down.

“You’re not telling me what to do,” Atobe bellowed before he pried the glass out of Yanagi’s hand and smashed it against the wall. “I’m the one giving the orders here.”

Yanagi opened his usually half-lidded eyes to glare at Atobe. He was taken aback by what he saw, how raw and vulnerable Atobe seemed to be from up close. It wasn’t like the perfect image was shattered, but more like he was seeing a reflection from behind the mirror. The strength that held a public image together wasn’t always as beautiful as it was fascinating. Yanagi flinched when a hand closed roughly on his hair to pull him down.

“This is an order,” Atobe said barely louder than a whisper, before Yanagi felt his lips on his mouth. Atobe felt like being burned with ice; cold, numbing and arousing all at the same time. Atobe’s hold on Yanagi’s hair tightened, as the other hand sneaked past his coat and shirt. Atobe’s touch left goosebumps on his way and Yanagi shivered. There was a sudden sting of pain as Atobe bit down hard on his lip, too hard, and Yanagi felt the coppery aftertaste of blood mixed with scotch. It was intoxicating. Yanagi felt like drowning in icy water, knowing he needed to get away from this, to find the opening where he had fallen into this mess, but not having the strength to do it. It had been so long since he had felt another person’s desire on his body like this.

Atobe’s mouth went south from there, to roughly kiss and bite down Yanagi’s neck. When Atobe reached his shirt, he almost ripped it open and Yanagi groaned, clinging to the railing for dear life. Yanagi shoved away, hard, and Atobe just pulled him closer by the clothes before ravishing his mouth again. Yanagi’s mind short-circuited between wanting this and not wanting it like this, and somewhere in his clouded mind, he thought of the complex’s surveillance cameras. He wrestled Atobe away from the terrace, and into the mess of the living room. He was soon pinned into the ground with Atobe on top of him and a lamp digging painfully into his right side.

Yanagi took a good glance at Atobe then. He stared at his pain and grief caused by forsaken dreams, hopes and the finality of life. It mirrored Yukimura’s and his own and Yanagi stopped struggling. It was useless. Atobe was shaking.

“I…order you to tell me if you want me to stop,” Atobe said quietly into Yanagi’s ear. Yanagi turned his face to the side and pulled Atobe down to kiss him, needy and almost savagely. They both were trapped by circumstances that they couldn’t control. Life was complicated and ultimately unfair; it didn’t make distinctions of any kind. This wasn’t what they wanted but it was just what they needed right now.

Atobe kissed back with renewed passion as he struggled to get him out of his clothes.

 

 

Yanagi woke up severely sore and bruised and with what promised to become a migraine. He wasn’t used to drinking and there was a reason for that, which he had conveniently ignored the night before. The sun was high up in the sky now, shining through the window. Yanagi rubbed his eyes trying to dissipate the grogginess with little success. Some time and a quick surveillance of the room later, he would learn he also had woken up to an empty bed, a plane ticket to Tokyo, a wad of bills and a note simply saying: ‘You’re done. The contract’s over”.

 

 

-x-x-x-

 

 

Atobe pinched the bridge of his nose as the news broadcast played on the plasma screen in the limo. Enterprise business was nothing like tennis, where everything was played and settled on a court. Business management involved having to deal with things that were far from legal, in the most unorthodox methods. Atobe had previously known that his family company was usually targeted by rival companies that tried to bring them down, but this was the first time that he was experiencing it firsthand. He just had become the CEO of one of the companies that belonged to his family two days ago, when pictures of himself partying after tournaments had been leaked under all kinds of headlines. The stocks had lowered significantly because of the new CEO’s apparent lack of maturity, compromising his newly acquired position. Atobe’s father had called, clearly upset about it, and Atobe had assured him he would take care of it. He had made several calls already and people were being fired, but the damage was done. It could be repaired, yes, but it would take some time.

When the sport segment started announcing the preliminaries rounds for the U.S. Open, Atobe turned the screen off and threw away the remote. He didn’t need this now. Instead, he stared at the passing scenery outside the window, pretending to not think about how he hadn’t held a racket since Wimbledon and how Yanagi hadn’t tried to contact him after he had terminated their contract.

It was easier like that.

 

 

The receptionist –and every one of his employees- bowed profusely to Atobe as he made his way up his office. A couple of faces looked worried about the media scandal and others tried to take a better look at the boss they barely knew. Atobe greeted them and smiled at them when all he wanted to do was to lock himself in his office, take some pills to ease his migraine and try to speed up the process of cleaning up after this mess. Keeping his face muscles locked in that naturally charming smile was annoying, and didn’t help his migraine. The elevator’s ding when the doors opened only made it worse. At least the only person in the highest floor was his secretary, who stood up as soon as she spotted him and bowed, before taking the stack of papers Atobe handed over to her.

“Cancel all my appointments for today and I already had breakfast at home, so that won’t be needed today either,” Atobe said taking them, without looking up from his phone where he was scrolling through the SNS’ response to the news.

“Sir? Your assistant is already waiting for you in the conference room,” she informed him, as she carefully balanced the folders and placed them on her desk.

“Ahn?” Atobe’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance. Probably his father was interfering again and assigned some old geezer to prevent further scandals. “I’ll talk to him now.”

And politely send him to hell, because he had this under control.

Atobe opened the conference room’s door and saw a man sitting there, drinking what appeared to be a cup of coffee and reading a book. Atobe froze on the spot and blinked a couple of times, before he crossed his arms over his chest and arched an eyebrow at the man. “What are you doing here?”

“Reading Japan's Managerial System by M.Y. Yoshino,” the man said, without looking up from his book and taking another sip of his drink.

Atobe was too dumbstruck for words at his boldness. Once the shock had passed, he came forward and smacked the book close. “I told you it was over. Leave.”

Yanagi looked at him then, staring into him, analyzing him with those sharp eyes before he sighed. He looked rather tired. “Do you know how many times Seiichi fired me and expected me to be there in the morning anyway?”

“That’s… this is not a game anymore, Yanagi.”

“I never implied it was.”

“Neither I am Yukimura,” Atobe interrupted, his tone sharp and deadly serious. He had known that since the beginning, how Yanagi was trying to find redemption from something he wasn’t even responsible of. He even had his suspicions of them being together when Yukimura was alive, but he paid no mind to it.

“I’m _aware_ of it,” Yanagi replied calmly, before putting the cup away. “Do you really want me to leave?”

Yes. No. Atobe didn’t know! Everything was new and even if he knew he would master it with time, it was nerve wrecking, not knowing who to trust. There were decisions he needed to consult with another point of view, a smart intelligent one that wouldn’t stab him once he turned his back. He needed someone like Yanagi, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

“Because I don’t want to go,” Yanagi said quietly, looking at the wall behind Atobe.

For the second time in that day, Atobe felt a knot forming on his stomach. Again he faced the divergence between what he wanted to do and what he _needed_ to do.

He couldn’t indulge himself in making reckless decisions, now.

“If you need a job, I’m sure many players would love to hire you. I can recommend you, even,” Atobe said running a hand through his hair, trying to convince Yanagi and himself that this was for the best.

They stayed silent for a long time.

“Was it that bad? For you to regret it so much?” Yanagi asked nonchalantly and Atobe took a time to think about what Yanagi meant. And when realization hit him, he felt even worse than what he felt before.

“Of course not,” Atobe said, a small smile forming on his face. It had been messy and wrong but it had also had been one of the best nights he had ever had. It’s not like he had pondered what kind of lover Yanagi would be, he never really thought of enforcing the contract like that. Atobe didn’t expect Yanagi would be such a dedicated, passionate lover. He was sure if they did it again, sober this time, it could only be better. Atobe shook his head, trying to clear it. “It won’t work. The wedding is set for next month.”

“I know,” Yanagi said and Atobe wondered if he really understood what that implied, because he didn’t look like if he just had been rejected. “I fail to see how that interferes with the _business deal_ going on here. ”

Atobe chuckled, feeling amused.

Right. Just a professional relationship that involved mutual cooperation to fulfill each other’s needs, and the occasional indiscretion if Yanagi’s smirk was anything to go by. For the first time in weeks, Atobe was feeling relaxed and slightly lightheaded, as if the sense of rightness had suddenly taken over and everything would be alright eventually. Somehow, Yanagi felt like a solid presence that guaranteed possibilities of achievement, a ruthless single-mindlessness to accomplish victory. Which was was _nothing_ compared to the greatness Atobe was capable of.

Atobe laughed out loud now. Could it be this what he needed all along? To be reminded there was a world outside of this life he was being forced to take? That this was just another court to rule? Either way, Yanagi looked slightly unsettled about this. Good. “Do you know anything about business?”

“Actualization is the base for improvement.”

That meant Yanagi didn’t know anything about it besides what it was needed in pro-tennis. He was one of the smartest people Atobe had ever known, though. He was sure Yanagi would dominate it in record time.

“Do you want to make a deal with me, Yanagi?” Atobe said, snickering at how ironic it was they were stuck in the beginning all over again. Yanagi, picking up on the irony as well, smirked a little.

“Ah. Though I’m unsure about the fairness of it all,” he said seriously and Atobe frowned a little. He couldn’t be implying Atobe meant they renewed that blank contract from a few years ago, wasn’t he?

“You thi--”

“I bought you dinner last time. And your secretary only offered me a coffee.”

“You are alert, then. Great. There is a lot to be done,”Atobe said sitting on the desk just in front of Yanagi, looking down at him. Yanagi arched an eyebrow, amused. "First, we need to call off a wedding. My wedding.”

“Are you sure about this?” Yanagi said clearly surprised by Atobe’s sudden change of mind. Surprising the usually-composed Yanagi was going to be fun, wasn’t it?

“I thought I told you that I don't like people making decisions for me,” Atobe replied, flicking his hair back. He leaned down to whisper into the other’s ear, rejoicing himself in how Yanagi’s breath hitched at the closeness. “Plus, there is no such thing as bad press, ahn?"

**Author's Note:**

> (1) _Tyche_ is the Greek Goddess of Luck.  
>  (2) Chuuken means "Faithful Dog".


End file.
